


Rusted Armor

by CaptainJimothyCarter



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Peggy, Bad Ass Peggy, Bartender Peggy, CIS Steve, F/M, Fluff, LGBT, Micheal is her deadname, Modern AU, Not her brother, One-Shot, Peggy owns a bar, Protector Steve, Slander against transgender, Steggy - Freeform, Trans Peggy, Trans Peggy Carter, Trans Woman Peggy, Trans!Peggy, Transgender, WARNING: TRANSGENDER SLUR, Warning for derogatory terms, Warning: transgender slander, post serum steve, warning: slurs, written by a trans person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 15:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21376018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter
Summary: With finding yourself, your true self, comes sacrifice and that often means losing families, but finding new ones in the process.OrA Modern AU where Peggy Carter is a transgender woman who owns a kick-ass bar and deals with college frat boys who think they can use derogatory terms to slander her. Peggy knows how to handle herself, but Steve is her unofficial bouncer and bodyguard and can't stand to know that drunken idiots call her slurs behind her back.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: stories of our own: works featuring nonbinary and trans characters





	Rusted Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic does have some derogatory terms used against transgenders. I advise if you're not in the right mindspace to read it, then please don't and worsen your condition.

He stood in the corner of the bar, like no one could see him. As if he didn’t fill up the space with his broad shoulders and pretty, soft blonde hair. Or that chiseled jawline that now sported a blossoming bruise. Or how his once perfect nose was now bleeding, bits of napkin shoved up his nose to try to stifle it. His full lips were busted, the blonde’s fingers holding a piece of ice from his whiskey on the rocks against the flushed skin. And when he spotted her, his smile lit up the room. His baby blue eyes sparkled with such delight, concern causing his brown to wrinkle ever so slightly.    
  
“I know what you’re doing,” Peggy greeted him, despite how that beautiful face made her heart jump straight to her throat. Her own face pinched, her brow furrowing, and her red lips turning into a frown. She held a tray in hand, tucking it under her muscular arm and looking straight into his baby blue eyes. “And I’m going to ask you to stop, Steven. I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I  _ know  _ what they’re saying. I can handle myself, I have ever since I was sixteen.”   
  
Steve laughed. Head thrown back, chest out, laughing with his full body. And Peggy was in love with that laugh, in fact she was in love with the  _ way  _ he laughed. And just maybe a tad bit in love with him, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “You don’t hear what they’re saying’ about you. You don’t hear what they’re sayin’ behind your back, Pegs. I’m not doin’ it to be your knight in shining armor. Mine would be more rusted and second hand, if anything.” His words slurred with the thick Irish accent, something he hasn’t been able to shake just yet. It was something Peggy hoped that he never lost in his time in America. He smiled and when he smiled, he smiled with his whole body. The way his shoulders slacked, the way that his eyes crinkled at the corners, and not to mention those goddamn baby dimples on both sets of cheeks here. It just wasn’t fair.    
  
“Then why do you do it? Why do you fight my battles?” Peggy’s head tilted to the side at the question, sending her brunette curls cascading down one shoulder. She straightened her spine and pulled absent minded at the white blouse she wore, half tucking it into her black mini skirt. “I can handle myself, you know?. And I’m pretty sure with your new architect contract with Stark, you could afford a new set of armor.”  
  
Steve’s eyebrow rose, disappearing into that fluff of blonde hair. “You remember that?” He posted it as a question in just one breath, despite he meant it in more of a statement. “I...just mentioned it to you in passing. I didn’t think you’d actually remember.”   
  
“Of course I would remember it, I remember lots about my regulars. I’m not just a pretty face, you know?” And Peggy certainly made a habit of remembering everything she could about Steve. From the facts about his life that he let her in on, like how he was an immigrant from Ireland, but worked under Stark’s name as their new architect. Or how he liked his whiskey on the rocks. Or how he liked to beat up the transphobic or racist customers. “You didn’t answer my question, Rogers.  _ Why  _ do you do it? Why do you get into these fights?”   
  
“No one is sayin’ you can’t handle yourself, Peggy. I just…” He sighed, letting the half melted ice he had on his lip fall back into his glass. He threw back the last of the whiskey and leaned into the wall, looking dead at her. And her beautiful hazel eyes, that gleamed with speckles of honey cascading through them. “You don’t hear what they say about you, alright? In and out of your bar. You don’t hear the disgusting  _ remarks  _ they make about you. Or-”   
  
The blonde was growing flustered and Peggy could see it in his eyes. Her hand laid on his wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. “I know. I might not react to it, but I know, alright? I’m thankful that you’re here to defend my honor, but I don’t need someone to. I can do that.” Her shoulders shrugged, patting Steve on the hand before walking behind the bar. She could see Steve following her with his eyes, not moving from his spot. That was his unofficial spot, his back against the wall, and side against the bar, gave him a whole viewpoint of her small bar.    
  
Peggy made it a point to ignore Steve, not out of malice, but more out of if she stayed and talked to him nothing else would get done. Her regulars wouldn’t be handled and customers wouldn’t get their fancy drinks. And Steve would just annoy her with insisting that someone had to help the weak. She wasn’t weak, she could handle herself. And handling herself involved ignoring the nasty comments. She’s had no choice, but to handle herself. It wasn’t like she could trust another soul to help her. Besides, it not like she had heard anything new with these nasty comments, she’s heard every comment under the sun, so nothing surprised her. Not anymore.    
  
**   
  
The bar’s door slamming open an hour towards closing, caused Peggy to nearly drop the tray of empty glasses, barely catching them in time. Her eyes first slid to Steve who stiffened along the wall, draining his third glass of whiskey. They turned to look at the group who’d so kindly threw her door open, causing the blue, pink, and white colored wreath to bounce along the glass plane before the door slowly swung closed. The new group were nothing, but a bunch of college kids, loud and rowdy, and looking for somewhere to get out of the early winter they were getting.    
  
“I’m going to need to see your ID, fellas,” Peggy mused, setting the full tray on her bar before turning to the group of guys once they’d seated in a booth. A total of six of them, all staring straight at her chest. Typical men. “Do we know what we want?”    
  
“I do,” the gray eyed man mused, tossing his ID to her in a lazy manner. He didn’t even blink when Peggy caught it mid air. “I want to know if you  _ really  _ got a dick. Heard from a buddy that you got the biggest dick he’s seen.”   
  
Her eyes narrowed, her brown eyes focusing on Gray Eye. She didn’t need to look up to know that Steve had shifted along the wall, clearly hearing them across the small space. “I think…” She let the words hang there, her tone having lost the warmth and friendliness to it despite the thick British accent. “...that will remain between your friend and I. If you  _ really  _ want to get in my skirt, darling, you’ll have to work a lot harder than asking what size a woman’s dick.” She tossed the ID back to him, hitting him square in the forehead.    
  
“So you do got a dick?” This time it was a redhead crammed in the middle who spoke, his face resembling the stereotypical dork, with round glasses and freckles splashed across his face. And his ID said he was barely old enough to drink. “So you’re a man who's pretending to be a lady? Did they expel you from Hogwarts for that?”   
  
This time, Peggy scoffed and set both her hands down  _ hard  _ on the table, causing the salt and pepper shaker to fall over. She looked at each one of them in the eyes, six of them in total, crammed into one round booth in the corner. She was silent for the moment, aware that Steve’s eyes were boring into her back. He was just waiting, just waiting to jump in and save her. She didn’t  _ need  _ saving, she could handle herself. “I think what is in my skirt, how big it is or not is between me, myself, and I.” Her nose flared, straightening her spine and lifting her head. “And  _ darling,  _ there’s nothing about me that’s a man. Now, what would you Yankees, like to drink?”    
  
“Let me,” Steve mused in a soft, kind voice, picking up the full tray of drinks for College Boys. All of her other customers had left, leaving just her, him, and the boys. “You got your hands full and need to start closing.” There was no arguing with the man, not when he had  _ that  _ damn look in his eyes. 

Peggy was forced to give the tray up, rolling her eyes. “Fine, but only because I have closing duties to do.” She paused, regarding him with a certain look. “And thanks, Stevie.”    
  
If Steve had any plans to talk to the gentlemen in the corner, it was dismissed the second he got a phone call shortly after he dropped off the tray. He shot Peggy an apologetic look before mouthing  _ Stark  _ and bolting out the side door normally meant for employees to enter the kitchen. Steve was just about as official as an employee, just without a check with her signature on it.    
  
Of course, as soon as the College Boys’ second round of drinks came, the shouts started.  
  
_ “Hey, sir! Sir!”  _ __   
__   
_ “Lady-man!” _ __   
__   
_ “Man! Man in the blouse. Peggy, yeah? That’s your name on the bar? Peggy. Weird name for a man. What’s in your pants?” _ __   
__   
_ “Yeah! I wanna see how big your dick is, man!” _ __   
__   
_ “Can’t be no bigger than Rickie, yeah? Guy’s fuckin’ hung.” _ __   
_   
_ __ “You’re a man, yeah? Ain't no way you’re a lady. Ladies don’t got dicks. They got that sweet, sweet pussy. You don’t got one.” 

_ “You look like a man. Got a twinks’ ass. Is that what you are? A twink who likes to dress as a lady?” _   
  
Peggy ignored the comments, because she’s heard them before. Because despite how they still stung, they didn’t stab her in the chest anymore. These were just local, drunk college boys, who felt the need to take out their petty views on her. Instead, she focused on cleaning the shot glass in her hand. She sat it down a bit too hard when there was a rap on the oak bar behind her. Letting out a sharp sigh, out of her nose, she turned on her heels to find the redhead from before standing there. He was absolutely drunk, with his bloodshot eyes, flushed face, and barely able to stand. Walking around the bar, she faced him with her arms crossed over her chest. “Its closing time, please see you and your friends out of here. You get one warning before I make you leave my force.”   
  
“Fine,” the redhead grumbled, reaching into his pocket for a hundred bill. He held it between two fingertips, a grin on his face. “I just want to cash this for our tab.”    
  
As Peggy took the bill from him, inspecting it in the yellow light of the bar, she felt a hand grab at her crotch. She could feel his pudgy, greasy hand curl around his length, a layer of silk separating her and his touch.    
  
Gripping the redhead’s arm, she jerked his hand from her length and forced it behind his back in a very wrong angle. Applying just the right position would cause it to break, not that she minded. Her knee collided with the back of his knee, throwing him down hard onto the ground. Red went down with a small cry, slamming his forehead against the bar.    
  
She heard them, heard the shouts and sounds of chairs being thrown out of the way as the College Boys rushed towards their fallen friend. “I think your warning is up.” Despite being violated, Peggy spoke in a calm voice, glaring at the boys. “Get out and never show your face again, unless you want me to press charges.”   
  
“Press charges?” Gray was shouting, clearly having drunk more than the rest of them. He acted as the  _ leader  _ of the group with the way he stood in front of the rest of them. “Who are they gonna believe, freak? Some  _ tranny  _ or us? You’re the one who assaulted us! All he was doin’ was checkin’ to see if you had a dick or not!”   
  
“You’re right. I do have a dick.” Peggy raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the man. She gripped at his throat, her fingers curling and applying just the right amount of pressure to make it difficult to breathe, but not impossible. “One that’s twice the size of the mouse-size in your pants. Only reason if you’re so concerned about my dick size is if you wanna ride it and sorry, love, but you’re not my type. I don’t fuck little boys.”    
  
She threw him back against his little group, causing him to fall over the table. Chaos instantly broke out.    
  
Peggy felt the fist collided with her jaw from a boy with black hair. Blood filled her mouth, spitting it out in his face. She elbowed him in the jugular and kneed him hard in the crotch. It was enough to cause him to fall to the floor, curled up on his side. She wore pointed heels for a reason.   
  
Really, she should’ve seen it from the start. She should’ve known how rowdy these boys were and how  _ stupid  _ they were. She heard the sound of glass breaking, but didn’t focus on it. Not until the beer bottle hit her in the forehead, just above her left eyebrow. That was going to leave a scar. It bled worst than what it truly was, warm blood trickling down to her eye.    
  
That was the final straw. Reaching just along her thigh, Peggy withdrew the pistol she’d store in her thigh holster. It was a force of habit that she’d learned from her grandmother who lived through both World Wars. And funny enough, the pistol belong to her.    
  
One warning shot to the light fixture above Gray, who was the one with the broken beer bottle was more than enough to send five of the six scrambling. All but Gray. Peggy couldn’t decide if he was stupid or had a death wish.    
  
She should’ve used the pistol from the start, but it was better late than never.   
  
“Apologize.” She snarled, raising the gun towards his level. Right at his thigh. He could survive a bullet to the thigh, if he got to the hospital in time   
  
“You fuckin’ bitch. I was payin’ you a compliment! You got nice tits for a man!” Gray howled, still rocking on his heels dangerously. “You didn’t got to go and attack us like that! You’re gonna pay! We’re gonna get our guys on you!”   
  
“I don’t hear an apology,” she reminded him, in a too sweet voice.    
  
Annoyed that this was going nowhere and Peggy wasn’t one to make empty threats, she pistol whipped the college student aside the head, sending him sprawling backwards and straight into a pair of combat boots stepping onto the floorboard. She knew at once whose boots those belonged to.  
  
Steve’s eyes were wide at the sight, heaving heard the college boys running out, echoing shouts down the alley about some crazed tranny in the bar. Now, he’d come in to find a scene of chaos before him. The bar was trashed, with tables and chairs thrown everywhere, broken beer bottles laying on the floor, bits of glass everywhere, and a light fixture shattered. Gray was laid out at his feet, holding onto his head and barely conscious. He finally settled on Peggy, her hair blown out over her shoulders, her jaw bruised and swollen, and a cut on her forehead. She never looked more beautiful than she did now. Even with the old pistol in hand.   
  
The man didn’t even question as he reached down and jerked Gray clumsy to his feet, supporting 90% of his weight. He threw the man clear out of the front door and kicked it shut behind him. “Look at you,” Steve whispered, his lips barely moving, as he turned to face Peggy. His hand lifted to just brush over the cut along her forehead. It looked worse than what it really was given the amount of blood on her pale skin. It might leave a scar behind, but given the idiot that held the glass bottle, he didn’t know how to truly use it as a weapon.   
  
“I’m fine, I told you. I can handle myself.” She pulled from his touch and pulled out a hair tie before pulling her hair up. In the same movement she’d placed the gun back in the holster and started to reach for the broom. “They’re not the worst I’ve dealt with.”   
  
“That’s  _ not  _ the worst? I’m sorry but you had your gun out! I’ve never seen you with your gun before.” Steve snorted, raising an eyebrow. “I would hate to see what you’ve dealt with.” He paused before grabbing at a clean dishcloth and dampening it in the sink. He pressed it against the bleeding wound, easing Peggy to sit down on a stool. “And I know you can. I just...don’t like to hear what they say behind your back. You don’t deserve it, to be bullied for who you are.”   
  
The brunette was silent, her shoulders slumping and feeling the dull ache in her jaw. She didn’t react when he pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding. It would heal, at worst, it will be a small scar, but hey, it would be another to match what clothes covered up. This wasn’t the worst that she’s dealt with. A bunch of drunk, transphobic college boys who had nothing better to do with their time than to yell derogatory at her. If anything, hopefully they’d learned their lesson and wouldn’t dare to try to disrespect another person again. Regardless of what was in their pants and their pronouns. Steve was looking down at her, concern causing his brow to furrow. 

“When I was sixteen, I told my mother that I...didn’t feel right in my body. After some research, talking to a few local clubs, I finally realized that I wasn’t…Micheal. That name never felt right my whole life, any time I  _ heard  _ it, some part of me would shrivel up and die. I didn’t  _ want  _ to be Micheal. I was Peggy. I was always Peggy, always felt some attraction to that name since I read it in a book when I was five.” Reaching back, behind the counter, Peggy picked up a bottle of gin and popped the cap by smacking the bottle against the bar. She tipped it back, three swallows before wordlessly passing it onto Steve.    
  
“Anyway, after I came out and told my mother that I was a woman, that I was Peggy, they reacted...horrendously. I didn’t give them any choice, but to accept me. I didn’t tell them that I  _ think,  _ that I thought, or any doubt. I told them I  _ was.  _ So they reacted as any typical, British person would, in a stance of power - they kicked me out.” She gave an empty laugh, rolling her eyes. “Told me that they wouldn’t have a  _ freak  _ like that in their home. When word got out that I was Peggy and not Micheal, my parents started the lie of telling people that I was Micheal, not Peggy. That I was just sick in the head, but they were seeking treatment for me. Treatment meaning, I was left to survive on my own at just sixteen.   
  
“So you see, letting people in is not easy, Steven. So after...a few years of hopping from friend to friend’s couch and one last attempt to repair my relationship with my parents, I came over to the US on a work visa. I tried to repair my relationship with my parents, they can’t say that I didn’t, but my mother slammed the door in my face. At that point, she started to tell people that I was a disgrace to the family and no longer welcomed.” Disgust filled her tone, taking the bottle back from Steve to take a few long drinks of it. “Letting people in isn’t easy, letting them help me isn’t easy. Letting my guard down, to allow someone close isn’t what I do. Every time I have, it seems to have bitten me in the ass. From them betraying me or the unfortunate happening.”    
  
Steve became aware that Peggy was crying somewhere in her speech. He let her talk, holding his breath. When she passed the drink to him, he didn’t take any. He simply held it and held her hand in his free one. He sat beside her and offered the one thing she seemed to crave: comfort. He watched as she sunk into his small touch, moving his broad fingers to cup her sharp jawline, tilting her head up to look into those beautiful eyes.    
  
“I understand,” he purred, the noise in the back of his throat. “You have resentment towards your family and given how they treated you, that’s understandable. You’ve tried to get close to people and it's done nothing, but hurt you. But look at yourself now, darling. Ten years later and you own one of the most successful bar and grill. You’ve made a name for yourself. You’re here on your own and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”   
  
Her face was growing warm, feeling the warmth pool in her cheeks. Peggy knew she was flushing at this point. She slowly reached up to touch his arm, tracing over his wrist before laying her hand over his. Hers felt so much smaller in his and yet, that made her feel safe. Somehow, his words meant so much to her. She felt the same warmth pool in her stomach and a small smile came to her lips. “Thank you, Steven.” She paused, shifting on the chair. “So you understand why...it's hard for me to let you close. Why it's hard for me to allow you to fight my battles when I can handle myself.”   
  
“I don’t fight your battles for you, Peggy. I fight them because I hate bullies. I fight them because if I allowed them to walk by me, saying derogatory terms about you, then those bastards and others think they could say it about anyone. And I won’t let that fly.” Steve’s dimples showed as he smiled, shaking his head. “Tell you what, you’ve had a long, hard day. Dinners’ on me. I won’t let you say not to this, this time. You need it.”    
  
“That sounds lovely, Steven. Are you sure you won’t mind a woman with a dick?” Giving that shit-eating grin on Steve’s face, Peggy knew he didn’t. 

Normally, at this time, Peggy would go straight home. She’d allow Steve to walk her home, but tonight, she knew he was right. She needed dinner after that alcohol on her stomach and she found herself not wanting to be alone. Not out of her own safety, but because she really enjoyed Steve’s company. Always had. She just refused to allow him close before. Her walls were slowly crumbling down and standing before the crumbling walls was her knight in rusty armor, Steven Grant Rogers. The immigrant from Ireland, with a temper quicker than a wildfire, and a mean right hook. 


End file.
